


A Compulsive Gambler

by shirogiku



Category: Being Human, Being Human (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dog Fights, Gen, It's not fair, Lord Harry, Party like it's the 1950s, Pre-Series, Season/Series 04, nothing in Cutler's life ever is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Cutler leans closer, searching his face for the barest hint. “Why would Hal keep coming down here? What could you possibly have to offer him?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The dog looks at him levelly, the unspoken 'that I don’t have' caught between them. “You’re jealous.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Compulsive Gambler

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shaitanah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaitanah/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** _Being Human_ belongs to Toby Whithouse and the BBC.
> 
>  **Note:** gen time. sorry, guys ^^; so much for talking it into the bedroom. unless this is secretly a Leo/Hal/Cutler fic? :p

“Would you like to see a real dog fight?” Hal asks in the suggestive tone he reserves for special occasions -- not quite _you’re going to achieve great things_ , but _that bint across the street looks truly delicious_.  
  
Cutler nods noncommittally. “Yes, I would, Hal.” It isn’t really a question of liking: Hal supervises a chain of dog fighting arenas located across the country.  
  
“You don’t sound overly enthusiastic,” Hal comments.  
  
Cutler gives Hal an uncertain sidelong glance and shrugs jerkily.  
  
“Others are saying I’m too soft on you.” Hal reaches out and straightens Cutler’s tie, his eyes glinting. “Am I?”  
  
Cutler replies, watching Hal’s hands, his voice more confident than he feels, “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to care about the idle tongues.”  
  
“Well said.” Hal chuckles and claps Cutler on the cheek. ”I do hope you won’t find it _too_ boring, my friend.”  
  
They arrive early and Hal gives him a little tour around the premises, demonstrating how it’s all set up and running. Cutler listens carefully and even shakes a few hands. And then it begins.  
  
The audience hoots and jeers. The human sweats in his tweed suit, reeking of fear, and trembles, hunching his shoulders to look smaller. The werewolf falls on his knees in the opposite corner, seized by the transformation, his bones breaking and mending in a blink of an eye.  
  
Cutler has never witnessed it before. It’s both terrifying and fascinating, the unleashing of a veritable beast. It justifies the well-hidden fear vampires seem to harbour towards werewolves, and that fear has been masterfully turned into excitement at watching them controlled and contained, dancing to the tune of the superior race.  
  
“Please, please, I’ve got a wife and children! Please!” the human begs, throwing himself at the grid of the cage.  
  
_This could have been you_ , a tiny, nagging voice whispers in Cutler’s head, making him shiver. He brushes away the ludicrous thought.  
  
“How trite,” Hal remarks, blowing out a pedantic ringlet of cigarette smoke and sneering. “And there I’d been looking forward to a spectacle.”  
  
The human keeps calling out, presumably, the names of his family members as he’s being ripped apart.  
  
Afterwards, Hal pulls Cutler aside. “What have you learned tonight, Nick?”  
  
_Vampires have questionable taste in entertainment_ , Cutler wants to say. Hal is so imposing in his patrician’s pose, but those on the arena are less than gladiators: they don’t even get fame or glory, only a violent death, sooner or later.  
  
“The dog was impressive, I’ll give you that much. But what’s the point of pitting such poorly matched opponents?”  
  
“Some have hidden depths.” Hal gives him a pointed look. “Hence, I’d have expected you to answer your own question, as well as the original one.”  
  
Cutler knits his brow. “We offer them the opportunity to take their own lives instead of each other’s.”  
  
“Very good.” Hal nods. “And yet only a mere handful have ever done it. Why is that? Would you call it cowardice?”  
  
Cutler glances at him in surprise, acutely aware of the weight of Hal’s assessing gaze. “Not as such,” he replies slowly, “it’s awfully hard to kill yourself.”  
  
A shadow passes over Hal’s face. He abruptly turns away and waves Fergus over, as if nothing.  
  
With Hal’s interest in the dog fights inexplicably rekindled, he starts attending the arena in person every so often. Cutler’s conclusion is Hal gets a kick out of betting on people’s lives. One might even say -- at the risk of having their throat ripped out -- he’s a compulsive gambler. Cutler suspects his recruitment has also been just that.  
  
Out of a long chain, only one dog is particularly memorable. An immigrant who must have come to the capital in search of a better fortune. Young and dark-skinned, proud but not defiant. Dignified. He meets Hal’s eyes across the grid in a silent conversation Cutler isn’t privy to. It looks a little like love at first sight. It sends chills running down Cutler’s spine.  
  
Hal places his bet, ignited with something that defies reason; he shouts and swears throughout the fight like a dock worker. He wins.  
  
They play a game of poker after the fight is over, Hal’s henchmen.  
  
Fergus all but picks his nose, Dennis always gets the best cards, Louis is neither here nor there and Cutler keeps folding, to Hal’s sarcastic delight. Tonight Hal is particularly vicious.  
  
Cutler goes all-in, bluffing, and nothing indicates Hal isn’t buying it. Cutler’s hope soars up with the stakes. He feels like they’re on even ground, like he might win.  
  
_Let’s feed the loser to the dogs_ , Fergus suggests and everybody laughs.  
  
As a passable permutation of that, the loser ends up feeding the dogs. Cutler thinks he shouldn’t be down here, it’s not even remotely his job and it’s all bloody unfair.  
  
Terrified, he edges closer to the chained dog, who seems to be asleep, his body slumped against the wall and his white tank top and face dirty.  
  
Cutler makes another step and carefully, carefully places the plate on the ground. The dog opens his far too intelligent eyes and Cutler nearly overturns it.  
  
“You’re not one of them usual lot,” the dog observes. He sounds neither angry nor hateful, just very tired.  
  
“I’ve lost a bet,” Cutler replies cautiously, his gaze flickering back and forth. Is the chain long enough? Is the beast waiting for the chance to catch him off guard and lunge at him?  
  
The dog chuckles. “You’re not here to talk, I hope? Not like the other one.”  
  
“What?” Cutler’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who comes here to talk?”  
  
The dog pipes down, closing his eyes again. Cutler can tell he’s hungry but won’t touch the food in Cutler’s presence.  
  
“Is his name Hal?” Cutler asks, raising his voice in insistence. “Is it?”  
  
The dog’s face betrays nothing. “I don’t know his name.”  
  
Cutler doesn’t have the mettle to intimidate this thing, but, perhaps, he can try another tactic.  
  
“Hear me out.” Cutler says calmly. “I only need to know the name.  It’s a simple bargain. What would you like in return? Better food? Some alcohol or cigarettes?”  
  
The dog looks amused. “You’re trying to bribe me.” He shakes his head. “You people and your games.”  
  
Cutler chews on his lower lip. “It should be all the same to you. The only reason for you to hide it is you have plans.”  
  
The dogs opens his eyes just a crack, his voice incredulous. “Plans? Me? I’m a simple creature. A dog, is that what you call us?”  
  
“Oh no, you’re quite sharp. Which makes you even more dangerous.”  
  
The dog doesn’t react to that.  
  
“What is _your_ name?” Cutler inquires.  
  
The dog remains silent  
  
“Fine, fine.” Cutler leans closer, searching his face for the barest hint. “Why would Hal keep coming down here? What could you possibly have to offer him?”  
  
The dog looks at him levelly, the unspoken 'that I don’t have' caught between them. “You’re jealous.”  
  
Cutler flinches away, a stricken expression settling on his face.  
  
The werewolf frowns, as if trying to solve a riddle. “Why?”  
  
“Hal’s my maker,” Cutler blurts out, a touch possessively and a touch defensively.  
  
The werewolf gestures at himself. “Look at me. I’m in chains. Like this I’m no threat to anyone.”  
  
“That's not what I’m worried about. Hal’s more than capable of defending himself... But I don’t understand. He’s restless. He’s... _changing_.”  
  
“And you’re afraid to be left behind,” the werewolf finishes for him.  
  
“Of course, I am afraid!” Cutler exclaims. “He’s everything I’ve got!” He stares into the werewolf’s eyes: there’s no sympathy in them, only understanding.  
  
Footsteps from the corridor, and Cutler scrambles to his feet, hurrying out of the cell.  
  
It’s Hal, his black tie and a few top buttons of his white shirt undone, revealing an eyeful of his strong neck. He’s holding an uncorked bottle of red wine.  
  
“Why do you keep coming down there?” Cutler demands.  
  
“I wasn’t aware I required your permission,” Hal replies snappishly and takes a hungry gulp from his bottle.  
  
Cutler’s tone turns pleading. “You shouldn’t, Hal.”  
  
“Are you telling me what to do, Nick?” Hal brushes his free hand against Cutler’s throat.  
  
Cutler stiffens. “No, of course, not!”  
  
Hal curves his mouth in a sardonic, lopsided smirk. “Have you forgotten what’s your real job? Would you like to re-train?”  
  
“But--”  
  
“Leave, Cutler,” Hal orders.  
  
Cutler walks away, throwing furtive glances over his shoulder. Hal doesn’t look back.


End file.
